On the bus ride home, he calls his mother, tells her how his son slithers between him and his wife at 5 am, about the nut tree in the backyard that drops detritus on the deck.

No, it’s not a black walnut, he says. It’s too small.

He watches the traffic crawl alongside as he talks, and the man crouched on the sidewalk next to the shopping cart. A group of school girls board at the 3rd stop, and they laugh as they pass him in the aisle.